A Million Dead End Streets
by satinsatan
Summary: After feeling betrayed by the other members of The Breakfast Club, John Bender is dangerously close to dropping out of school and resigning himself to grow up and turn into his father. But when he runs into Allison Reynolds in a dingy alleyway, both of their lives are changed. Possibly Allison/Bender. Rated T for language and other nasty stuff.
1. Prelude: What A Criminal World

_**( A/N:**_ Hello, ! I only recently watched _The Breakfast Club_ and fell utterly in love with the film, and fanfic ideas just started storming through my head! This is my first fanfiction, and beginnings have never been my strong point, but trust me, I'll get better. Now, onward with the story! _**)**_

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><p>I still don't know what I was waiting for<br>And my time was running wild  
>A million dead-end streets,<br>and every time I thought I'd got it made  
>It seemed the taste was not so sweet<br>— _Changes,_ David Bowie

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><p><strong><em>Prelude:<em> What A Criminal World**

It's been two weeks now since the last time he set foot in Shermer High - and Bender commemorates this now with nothing but a grumble about 'stuck up rich yuppies' as he exhales a mouthful of cigarette smoke into the chill Chicago air. This absence isn't because of summer vacation, no - the biting chill that cuts into every inch of exposed skin belies that assumption.

Rather, John Bender had, in the course of one short week, been swiftly disillusioned in the so-called yuppies that populated the school. Of course, he had never been the most dilligent of students - _that title ought be awarded to Big Bri and his clique,_ Bender thinks bitterly - but lately he had been engaging in downright truancy, skipping school more days than he attended it.

Part of this was because of his home life. After all, the old man had been hitting the bottle extra hard lately, which, Q.E.D., meant he'd been hitting _Bender _extra hard lately. And although anyone who cared one whit about him could easily discern the nature of him and his father's relationship, he had a reputation to uphold and didn't want the careless marks of drunken rage noticed by nosy teachers and mocking peers.

But mostly? But _mostly _(and this is something that stung Bender even more than the meanest of his old man's punches) he had abandoned his education due to four other teenagers, fellow students at the school. Four young people who he had, for the briefest of times, considered as friends and allies. But in one mere week after that fateful Saturday, he realized just how little the time they had spent together had meant.

Take Claire, for example. The Princess, his precious Cherry. Theirs had truly been a whirlwind relationship. He had given her his trust - quite the rare and precious gift from someone like him - and his love, something more precious still. In return she had given him a diamond earring and her own 'cherry' - and these were the meaningless gifts, for she had money to go around, and sensuality as well. But, just four days after the giving of these gifts, Claire had shown just how meaningless this all was for her.

On the Wednesday morning - _Wednesday's child is full of woe_, he thinks, snorting up acrid smoke as he laughs - after their first and _last _fight as a couple, he swept through the school doors to find her giggling with the 'activities people', something she hadn't done since before that Saturday. He approached her, even attempted to _apologize,_ but was greeted with a cold shoulder. When he finally turned and left - although not before hollering a '_Fuck You!' _that resounded throughout the hall - he heard her mutter to one of the preps "I mean, everyone should at least _try _it with one of _his type, _but not _forever._ They're not _meant _for _that._"

_Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me. _The childish saying springs, unbidden, into his mind, and he takes another long drag of his cigarette in an attempt to clear his memory of it, walking even faster down the bustling Chicago street. What _bullshit. _What total, utter _crap_. Claire's words hadn't broken any bones, true, but they sure had _hurt. _Words, he'd discovered, had the power to break what was already broken, kill what was already dead.

And the rest of the Breakfast Club had been no better, although to be honest, Bender hadn't had much motivation to rekindle their spark of friendship after Claire's betrayal. But Andy - whom the criminal had always regarded least fondly of all the Breakfast Club members, anyway - had chosen Claire's friendship over Bender's. And although he would have enjoyed even Brien's nerdy company, the geek was nowhere to be seen in Shermer High as of late.

Yes, for four short days Bender had thought he'd found four real friends, but, as was everything, it was too good to be true, and now John Bender was alone. But that didn't matter. It was the past, albeit the recent and painful past, so he shoved it into the recesses of his mind and instead put his attentions towards getting back to the shithole he called home without freezing to death.

The streets of Chicago were certainly not a friendly place, but Bender was used to unfriendliness. He was used to walking on eggshells around his father, hyper-vigilant… which was why he immediately noticed what many may not have: a sudden lightness in one of the pockets of his jeans. Dropping his cigarette in surprise, he turned around - immediately noticing a hooded figure, nothing discernible save for a glimmer of brown eyes under a fur-lined hood and Bender's wallet held between long, pale fingers.

Now, it must be said that the battered wallet held next to nothing of value - five bucks: most of it in coins, two condoms, and pictures of every girl he'd ever 'considered' were all there was to steal. But there seems to be a sort of instinct in humans to protect their own property, no matter how little of it there is. So Bender lunged at the thief, hoping to knock him to the pavement, but to no avail: the nimble little pickpocket merely darted out of the way, edging through the crowd in an attempt at evading Bender.

A smirk appeared at the badboy's lips. Oh, no, he wasn't going to let this little bandit off that easily - lately he'd been listless, cheerless, and a fight might be just what he needed to bring his spirits up. So in an instant he had given chase, jostling through the crowd of the busy street and after the thief down an adjacent alleyway. He was a fast runner, and surely would catch this lowlife soon, he thought - until Bender realized that the alley was completely devoid of fleeing pickpockets. The only living beings in this dingy backstreet were him, some scuttling rats, and a few bums huddled at the ground.

Bender was about to give this up as yet another shitty event in his shitty life - but then the fur lining adorning the hood of one of the homeless bums caught his eye. _Ah, so the pickpocket was hiding in plain sight! Clever little street rat. _Bender crouched next to the hooded figure, eyebrows lowered in a glare.

"Give me my fucking wallet," he demanded, voice raspy from the running he'd just done.

No answer. Not even a flicker of movement.

"Give it to me!"

Once again Bender was met with silence, and he lost his patience. And for the second time that day he lunged forward towards the thief, although this time fully prepared to beat the shit out of the wallet-snatcher.

Only to stop the beating short just a few seconds after he'd started. For the first thing he'd done was yank the pickpocket's hood away from his face, and once that happened, Bender had been surprised by two things.

Firstly, that the thief was _female. _Bender had assumed that he'd been robbed by a man, not some girl. And yet her face was unmistakably one of a young woman, although not a particularly feminine one. And while Bender quite believed that one should employ equal-opportunity beatings for wallet-stealing, he couldn't help but be more hesitant at punishing the thief now that he knew she was a girl.

But what was even more surprising was the realization that her face was a familiar one, although at first he couldn't quite place her. Dark mop of dandruff-spattered hair, pallid face dusted with freckles, and, most identifiable, the dark belligerent eyes that stared up at him. Although, honestly, it took Bender far less time for him to place a name to the unique face than it did to believe that she was actually _here,_ lounging in a back alley as if she were some homeless bum. But, finally, he managed to sputter out words:

"_Basketcase? _What the living _hell _are you doing _here?_"

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><p>So I turned myself to face me<br>But I've never caught a glimpse  
>Of how the others must see the faker<br>I'm much too fast to take that test  
>— <em>Changes,<em> David Bowie

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><p><em><strong>( AN:**_So, there's the beginning! I know it doesn't seem like much now, but this is just the prologue, and my writing will get better with practice. If you have praise or constructive criticism, don't hold back: praise will motivate me immensely, and constructive criticism will help me learn to be a better writer. _**)**_


	2. Chapter 2: City of the Damned

_**( A/N:**_Hey, back with a new chapter of this! Still kind of a slow beginning, I know, but that's why I need your critiques - how am I supposed to improve otherwise? Anyway, hope you enjoy! _**)**_

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><p>On a steady diet of<br>Soda pop and Ritalin  
>No one ever died for my sins in hell<br>As far as I can tell  
>At least the ones I got away with<br>— _Jesus of Suburbia,_ Green Day

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><p><strong>Chapter Two: <strong>

"_Basketcase? What the living hell are you doing here?"_

After his breakup and subsequent disillusionment with Claire, John Bender had already resigned himself to his fate. He would, bit by bit, remove himself from Shermer High and all the assholes who resided there. He'd need to get some sort of menial job, to support his shitty family, and in this way Bender would live, more likely than not unhappy.

But nothing in his plans included chasing Allison Reynolds down an alleyway, so, needless to say, he was shocked. For her part, dear old Basketcase seemed pretty chill about the whole thing, staring at a fixed point near Bender's head with those belligerent eyes, his wallet still clutched in her hand.

Time spent waiting for Basketcase to respond to you was time spent wasted, apparently. She just sat there motionless, as if mentally she were in another world. Honestly, Bender had been under the impression that she'd gotten over the whole mouse-act in detention, and got just a little bit concerned. Not a lot, mind you - he was John Bender, after all. He reached out and shook her awkwardly by the shoulders a bit, unsure of what else to do. He didn't reach for his wallet, however. He'd practically forgotten about it.

"Hey - earth to Basketcase! You gotta hearing problem, or something?"

Allison receded slightly into the solitary envelopment of her coat at his yelling and shaking, giving a shrill little mouse-like shriek. Why was John Bender so concerned, anyway? He'd abandoned her, just like the others. Just like Claire, and Brian, and… _Andrew. _She receded even more deeply into the coat. She just wanted to sleep, be numb to the world. Why wouldn't he just _go away? _He was good at that - seemed like everyone that Allison knew was.

"What do _you _want?" Allison's dazy voice was muffled through the jacket, but hopefully her tone would be clear enough that he would get lost.

Bender gave her a puzzled look. This was a look that Basketcase often inspired, he knew, but she was even freakier than usual today. She talked as though he had barged into her bedroom or something, rather than having found her practically passed out in an alleyway with his wallet in her hand. _We aren't even friends, really, _he told himself, _why the hell should you give a rats ass about Basketcase? _But he still couldn't keep an edge of concern out of his voice, even through the meanness.

"I want my fucking wallet back, for one thing!" Honestly at this point the dumb empty wallet wasn't his main concern, it was just an excuse - he hadn't actually expected her to give it to him. But Basketcase shoved it in his general direction anyway, still keeping her head burrowed in her coat. "And also, well… like I said, what the hell are you _doing _out here? Basketcase?"

No answer. Fucking typical.

"It's dark out, you know, and you're sitting in one of the shittiest parts of Chicago," he continued dully. He was quite good at pretending he didn't care. Years of experience, after all. "You're gonna get jumped if you stay out here any longer alone."

He didn't expect a response to that, either, but a muffled reply came from the huddled figure, "yeah. By _you,_ probably. So go away."

For a moment Bender was tempted to do just that - after all, never let it be said that he didn't give the ladies what they wanted, right? But in the end his stubbornness prevailed, and he grabbed by the puffy jacket and yanked her unsteadily to her feet - not roughly, mind you, but certainly not giving her any choice in the matter. She didn't put up much fight about it, though, although she glared daggers at him.

"So, where d'you live? Let's take a little walk."

"I can't - I _won't _- go back there," Allison said flatly, but Bender kept asking her until she told him, just to get him off her case. He still hadn't let go of her jacket when they started walking out of the alley. "Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked, although, really, this behaviour could only be considered _nice _by John Bender standards.

"Oh, because I want to go to _hea_ven!" John cried in a falsetto exaggeration of a pious tone which Allison couldn't help but smirk at, although she kept on with her question.

"No, seriously. Why?"

Bender frowned slightly, scratching his face with the hand that wasn't clutching onto Basketcase's jacket. "I dunno, 'm bored," he said, a little _too _carelessly. The rest of the walk passed in silence until they arrive at Carroll street. Not a richie neighborhood, Bender noted, although not too shabby, either. Middle-class. He stomped Basketcase over to her house, which was the only one on the street that _didn't _have a perfectly manicured lawn.

Allison looked from what had once been her house to Bender, and back again, a glower creeping into her gaze. "You took me home, great. Now _get lost."_

Bender frowned slightly in response, as though he suspected that something was amiss. _Damn it, _Allison muttered to herself. "I will, I will - once you go inside. Gotta be a gentleman, right?" Allison made a small squeak of discontent. Really? He chose _now _to worry about being a gentleman? She let out a long sigh.

Okay, now John was sure that something was up. The lounging in the slums was one thing, but not even want to go home? He knew that Basketcase didn't love her parents or anything, but _still. _So he stood firmly there, waiting for Basketcase to either go inside or tell him why she wouldn't. And soon enough, she did.

"Listen, Bender…" Allison began, her pale face emerging from the jacket so he could actually hear him - although that was soon made a moot point as she began gnawing at her uneven nails, her voice growing quieter and more mumbled with every word. "I really can't go in there, even if I wanted to - which I _don't_. But, uh… _my parents kicked me out._" She finished the sentence in a near-whisper.

It took Bender a moment to decipher Basketcase's mumbled words, but when he did, he raised an eyebrow in surprise. "No kidding? Gee, I knew you were nutso, but I didn't know you were _that _bad!" he chuckled… although his laughing faded as Basketcase sighed and burrowed back into her jacket, muttering to herself. He was pretty sure he saw the glint of wetness running down her face.

After a moment of awkwardly considering what he should do - was it too late to just walk away? - Bender wrapped an arm around the girl, uncovering her face from the jacket to flick away the tears trickling down her cheeks. Uncharacteristically affectionate, perhaps, but she'd just gotten kicked out of her home, and no home life was better than even his crumby one. "Hey, hey, it's alright! Don't cry on me, Basketcase - I mean, _Allison. _It's not that big a deal, you know - " He'd never been good at comforting people, but reassuring words just kept oozing through his lips until Basketcase had stopped her moping.

"I guess you're right," she said with a sigh, her eyes red from crying yet still venomous. "It's not like they ever cared about me, anyways."

"That's the spirit!" Bender cried enthusiastically, realizing a moment later that it wasn't really spirited at all. "But hey, you can hang out with me, yeah? Don't want you loitering around in the ghetto, that's for sure. I'll take you to Sporto's place or somethin'." Bender had little desire to see yet another of the people who'd so betrayed him, but he was pretty sure that Sporto and Basketcase were still going strong - and perhaps Basketcase would be more comforted by her little boytoy than she was by him.

"No," Allison answered flatly, surprising him. "Andy won't want to see me, either." And with that she slipped out of Bender's half-hearted embrace, and began walking down the street, away from him.

Bender followed her. He wasn't sure why, and honestly he didn't like how considerate he was acting - niceness felt a lot like weakness to a boy who'd known little more than hardship. Yet he followed her anyway, running until he caught up with her and could slow to a reasonable pace. "So, Sporto abandoned you too, huh?"

Basketcase didn't look unhappy that she still had company, but she didn't look happy, either. "It was my fault," she said dully, giving her feet an intense amount of focus.

"Tell me about it," Bender said with an easy chuckle, before his face softened, tone became just a tad more serious. "But hey, if you really don't have _anywhere _else to go… you could come to my place for the night." He paused. "I know it's not ideal, but -"

The mouse-girl interrupted him with a squeak. "Really? You mean, _you _still want to be friends?"

Bender frowned, considering. He was still convinced that the entirety of the Breakfast Club had disregarded everything that had happened during that fateful detention and abandoned him. "Yeah, whatever. But mostly I want to keep you from sleeping in the streets."

A chuckle escaped Allison, although she had a suspicion that he _wasn't _joking. "Okay… Where _do _you live, anyway?"

He laughed as well, although his was rather cold and bitter. "Nowhere _you've _ever been, babe," he drawled with condescension.

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><p>And there's nothing wrong with me<br>This is how I'm supposed to be  
>In a land of make believe<br>That don't believe in me  
>— <em>Jesus of Suburbia,<em> Green Day

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><p><em><strong>( AN:**_ So, what do you think? Thanks to the few who've faved and followed, but I'd love to see some reviews! It helps motivate me, and honestly even if I continue writing this story I don't see the point of posting it on here if not many people are interested in it. But anyway, thanks! _**)**_


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